


Through Quiet Ways

by childrenofthesun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Marriage Proposal, Miscommunication, Multi, possibly with slightly more angst than the prompt intended but this is me we're talking about here, use your words morons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofthesun/pseuds/childrenofthesun
Summary: Crowley starts acting strangely, and Aziraphale comes to the conclusion that it's because Crowley is about to break up with him.The truth is pretty much the exact opposite.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 281
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	Through Quiet Ways

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Тише едешь...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25278007) by [fandom Tennant and Sheen 2020 (fandom_Tennant_Sheen_2020)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Tennant_Sheen_2020/pseuds/fandom%20Tennant%20and%20Sheen%202020), [Fannni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fannni/pseuds/Fannni)



> Me? Writing G-rated fic?? Blasphemy, I tell you.
> 
> Written for this prompt from the kinkmeme: https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=2791257#cmt2791257
> 
> Because we all know by now that these two idiots being morons is my entire deal.

Crowley poked his tongue out in concentration, staring up at his phone intently as he held it over his head, splayed out on Aziraphale's couch. He'd been stuck on the same level of Candy Crush for days, and now he was inches from victory – giving an enthusiastic play-by-play to a largely perplexed and uninterested Aziraphale – only a few more matches…

The phone rang, and he promptly dropped it on his face in shock.

"Oh, pity, your game," Aziraphale said mildly, turning the page of his book.

"Veritable well of sympathy, you are," Crowley groused, picking up the phone and muttering something dark about telemarketers before reading the number calling.

His demeanour changed instantly, shooting upright and slapping the phone to his ear. "Crowley speaking," he said, listening intently to whatever he was being told. "Really? Already?" A smile lit up his face, tempered by some cousin of guilt or nervousness when his eyes slid over to Aziraphale. His voice dropped lower, almost furtive as he continued, "No, yeah, that's– terrific, I can be there in twenty minutes. Thanks."

"Who was that?" Aziraphale asked curiously, peering at him from over the top of his book.

"What? No one! I talk to people," Crowley said, snatching his sunglasses from the side table he'd left them on and stuffing them onto his face. "It's nothing– _important_ , or anything. Unrelated, but I also have to go, immediately."

Aziraphale frowned. It was quite clearly related, Crowley had just told whoever was on the other end of the call that he would be right over. "Crowley, what–"

"Later, angel," Crowley all but yelled, already halfway out the door. The bell jangled loudly overhead, the Bentley's engine starting up mere seconds later, followed by a rather predictable squeal of tires.

"Odd," Aziraphale murmured to the suddenly empty shop.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

Crowley was going to break up with him.

Aziraphale had grown more and more certain of it. He hadn't thought much of the strange phone call at first, but Crowley's unusual behaviour rapidly increased. He began visiting the shop far less, giving only vague responses when Aziraphale tried to obliquely mention it to him. When he did visit, there was a strange, nervous sort of energy to him, like he was scrutinising Aziraphale's every movement, waiting for something. He still hadn't explained who he'd been on the phone with, despite Aziraphale's gentle probing.

With a heavy heart, Aziraphale realised that the most logical explanation was that Crowley had fallen for someone else.

It made sense, he thought despondently. Someone as fussy and particular as Aziraphale was would hardly be anyone's first choice. It didn't surprise him that Crowley had found someone that suited him better. He just wished, selfishly, that he'd been able to have more than these few sweet years since the world didn't end before Crowley found greener pastures.

His feet were leaden as they led him to Crowley's door. The demon had invited him over for the evening, and if that hadn't been enough to tip him off – Aziraphale could count the number of times he'd been to Crowley's austere, aggressively modern flat on one hand – Crowley had said he wanted to discuss something important with him.

This was it.

Aziraphale hoped they would still be friends afterwards. He'd loved Crowley as such for far longer than they'd been lovers, it would utterly devastate him to lose that connection to him along with any romantic entanglements they had.

"Angel," Crowley said, smile slightly too-wide and forced as he opened the door before Aziraphale even knocked. "Come in, everything's ready."

Aziraphale stepped inside, surrounded by quiet except for the anticipatory rustling of Crowley's plants as he was led through to the dining room. He rather felt like the greenery was mocking him.

Crowley ushered him towards the dining table, which was currently festooned with lit red candles, two empty wine glasses and a bottle of merlot. The garish red and gold throne chair had also been given a matching mate, which Crowley pulled out and bade him sit upon. Aziraphale acquiesced, clasping his hands in his lap to keep himself from fidgeting anxiously as Crowley scurried off to the kitchen.

He reappeared moments later, carefully carrying a bowl of pasta swirled through with an aromatic red sauce, which he placed before Aziraphale.

"Tagliatelle alla puttanesca," he announced with a slight stiltedness, picking up the bottle of wine.

Aziraphale looked down at the dish before him, momentarily nonplussed. "Crowley, I didn't know you could cook."

"Demon of many talents, me," Crowley replied, deftly uncorking the wine and pouring them each a glass before taking his own seat. "Well, that, and I've sort of been practicing a bit," he admitted, with the sort of tone that meant he'd actually been practicing quite a lot. "Maybe don't ask the neighbours about anything strange they might've been smelling recently."

Aziraphale offered him a smile, taking a sip of wine to fortify himself with. "I don't suppose I should be worried about how this might taste, then," he joked weakly. Crowley responded with an overbright laugh, clearly nervous and uncomfortable.

Well, it wasn't as if Aziraphale could blame him. Their first break-up, as it were, back at the bandstand just before the end of the world, had already been gut-wrenching enough. He doubted Crowley would much enjoy being on the delivering end, either.

Still, Crowley had taken the care and thought to do this as delicately and kindly as possible. The least Aziraphale could do was be appreciative of Crowley's efforts to let him down gently.

He twirled a few strands of tagliatelle around the tines of his fork and brought it to his mouth, determined not to show even the barest hint of a negative reaction. He needn't have worried; the dish was bursting with perfectly balanced flavour. His eyelids fluttered shut as he savoured it, momentarily forgetting the impending devastation of his heart over the present delight of his palate.

"Oh, Crowley," he murmured with a near-moan. "This is utterly delectable, you've done a truly marvellous job, my dear boy."

Crowley scooted his chair a little closer, knocking into the edge of the table. "Yeah?" he asked, clearly trying his best not to look like he'd been eagerly hanging on for Aziraphale's opinion, eyes flickering across Aziraphale's face as if trying to detect any trace of a lie.

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile, even as his heart ached. "Positively scrumptious," he assured, not faking his eagerness for another bite.

Crowley rested an elbow on the table, cupping his chin as he watched Aziraphale eat, a familiar and usually comforting pattern. Different, though, was the fact that Crowley's eyes were uncovered; they'd always taken meals in public settings before this, meaning that Crowley shielded away his more apparent demonic attributes. Now, Aziraphale could feel that molten-gold gaze on him far more keenly than when it was hidden away by tinted glass.

He still made all the same delighted noises as he ate as he normally would, partly because he knew it would please Crowley, and partly because he really couldn't help it. Even though he tried to savour the meal, though, it still seemed like he finished it far too soon, the gentle clatter of his cutlery as he set it down in the empty bowl ringing out like a death knell. He brought his napkin to his mouth, both to clean up any stray sauce and to give himself time to get his quivering bottom lip to behave itself.

Crowley, who had spent the past several minutes anxiously twisting the stem of his half-drunk glass of wine, abruptly lifted it to his mouth and drained it.

"Right," Crowley said firmly, putting the glass back down and straightening up.

"I know what you're going to say, Crowley," Aziraphale said, keeping his tone gentle and somehow unwavering.

The demon froze a little, then an unbidden wry smile quirked at his lips. "That obvious, am I?"

"I know you don't like me saying it, but you are incredibly sweet." He smiled sadly. "But you needn't have gone to such trouble. Certainly not on my account."

The candlelit glow in Crowley's eyes was instantly snuffed out, curling himself in like the petals of a rose against an encroaching winter frost as one hand grabbed vaguely at his own chest.

"Oh," he said quietly, shrinking back in his seat, looking like for once he wouldn't mind being dragged down to Hell. "I'm sorry."

"Please, Crowley, you don't need to apologise, it's not your fault that we feel differently for one another," Aziraphale insisted, leaning forward as if to make up for the extra distance Crowley had placed between them.

"N–" Crowley cut himself off, swallowing thickly, gripping at his jacket a little harder. "Right–"

"I do appreciate the effort you've put into this evening, I don't want you thinking the effort was wasted," Aziraphale said, to a garbled sound of distress. Oh, but this was torture, to see Crowley ripping himself to shreds like this for the sake of Aziraphale's feelings. "That you'd go to such lengths to spare me pain is one of the many reasons I love you so dearly." He backpedalled immediately, realising that saying such a thing would only make Crowley feel worse. "I don't mean to make you feel badly about me, I most honestly wish you all the happiness in going where your heart truly lies."

Serpentine eyes went suddenly wide with confusion. "What? You–" He made another absent grabbing motion at his chest. "'Ziraphale, what do you think is happening, here?"

Aziraphale blinked. "Well," he said, trying not to let his voice wobble, "You've decided to break off our courtship, haven't you?"

"…Someone's sake, angel, that's not–" Crowley's hand shook like a leaf as he plunged it into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Here," he said, a little frantic, then fumbled and promptly dropped whatever he'd just pulled from his pocket. "Wait, no, bless it–"

A black velvet ring box tumbled from Crowley's fingers, springing open as it bounced along before fetching up just shy of Aziraphale's bowl, contents on display.

"…Well," Crowley whispered weakly, an utterly mortified expression on his face. "There's that."

The band was bright silver, with delicate looping inlays of black pearl that instantly brought scales to mind.

Aziraphale stared at it in wonder, heart suddenly bursting with so much love that it bubbled up into his throat, rendering him speechless.

Crowley immediately started babbling to fill the silence. "I know it's not your usual colour, but, y'know, I thought, maybe, pattern like that, you'd look at it, and– and it'd make you think of me, and…" He faltered, voice dropping to a mumble. "It was a stupid idea, doesn't suit your style at all, I–I can…" His voice cracked as he snatched up the box, cradling it close as if to protect the love it represented. "If you don't want it–"

"It's beautiful," Aziraphale whispered. "For me? Are you sure?"

Crowley gulped, nodding. "'Course, for you." His golden eyes misted over and he blinked rapidly, gaze dropping away. "Never been anyone else."

"Oh, Crowley, please don't cry, I'm so sorry I misunderstood–"

"Shut up," Crowley said, scrubbing angrily at his face with the hand not still clutched around the ring box. "'M not crying. You're crying."

Aziraphale couldn't help but let out a burbling, wet laugh. "Well, I suppose I am," he admitted, "but that's only because I'm rather devastatingly in love with you, my dear, and I was rather upset by the prospect that your feelings on the matter differed from mine."

"Does that mean yes?" Crowley choked out, the box shaking slightly in his trembling hand.

An intense rush of fondness surged through the entirety of Aziraphale's being. "Of course, it's a yes, you darling serpent."

"Right," Crowley said, and kept sitting there for several seconds.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale prompted, a little concerned that the demon might not move of his own volition.

"Right!" Crowley said again, startled into action, scrambling out of his seat and bounding awkwardly around the ludicrous length of the dining table to reach Aziraphale's side. He fell to one knee in a rather literal sense, cracking it against the hard floor as he toppled to halt. He didn't so much as wince, too focussed on drawing the ring from its box, on taking hold of Aziraphale's hand and sliding the ring over one of his plump fingers. It glided on with ease, a perfect fit. The black pearl inlays caught the flickering candlelight in a mesmerising ripple, but still Aziraphale found his gaze drawn to the far more alluring sight of Crowley's eyes, full to the brim with love and hope.

"Oh, _Crowley_ ," he sighed fondly, unable to resist leaning down for a kiss.

Crowley let out a soft sound into his mouth, hand rising to curl around Aziraphale's neck. Aziraphale felt as if he was being warmed both from within and without, Crowley's love twining so beautifully around his own, light and dark in harmonic balance. It moved through him like a song, the notes bright and clear as they came to a crescendo within him. It was as beautiful as the golden dapple of sunlight shining through leaves onto a forest floor, as solid as the rocky earth beneath it. It flowed like a river, like the planet's liquid outer core, as incontrovertible as the laws of physics that bound their beloved Earth together.

Aziraphale pulled away begrudgingly after several long, indulgent minutes, consoling himself with the sight of Crowley's adoring face.

"Angel…" Crowley murmured.

"Yes, dearest?" he replied, stroking a thumb over the razor-sharp line of Crowley's cheekbone.

"I didn't put too much garlic in the sauce, did I? You taste a bit like I might've. 'S all right, you don't have to say nice things about my cooking just because you think you should."

Aziraphale threw his head back and laughed, bright and merry. How could he have ever been such a fool to doubt Crowley's affection for him? "It was perfection, Crowley," he promised. "As are you."

Much to his delight, Crowley immediately went a shade of red even brighter than the sauce in question. "'M not. Shut up," he mumbled.

"I'm afraid it was a statement of fact, not a point for debate," Aziraphale told him, tugging on Crowley's hand and drawing the demon up into his lap.

Any further protest died on Crowley's lips as he pressed them to Aziraphale's once more, Aziraphale's new ring flashing silver as his arm curled lovingly around Crowley's back.


End file.
